Times With You
by DandylionFields
Summary: Post-WW2;; Royal Navy Commander Arthur Kirkland had only assumed his newest companion from America had offered his home out of courtesy and friendship. With his home in shambles Arthur accept, but between mixed signals and his unforgettable past, things might not look so bright in America. Future USUK, unrequited FrUK . Rating may change.
1. Prologue

**Basic Idea: WARNING for possible historical inaccuracy. I'll be trying the best I can D: Comment on anything to fix, p&ty3**

**WW2 is officially over, and Arthur finds that soon he'll be discharged. His home has been ruined, but he doesn't think much of it. His friend, Francis, has yet to wake up. Alfred Jones, the young and well-off new friend of Arthur's out of the blue asks him to live with him back in America. Arthur is reluctant to leave his long-time friend, but he finds he might feel safer if he leaves the war-ravaged lands. What he has yet to find out is that Alfred likes Arthur.**

* * *

Typically, the gentle tap on his shoulder would have warned the Commander that his visiting hour was almost over, and being the refined gentleman that he was, Arthur Kirkland would have given the nurse a polite curt nod and fled the area. He knew that the doctors and nurses had a handful to work with, and it was only right of him to not intrude on any aid for the patients. That being said, it was different in this case. The patient that lay motionless in the cot was his mate. His bloody, perverse _French _friend (and secret crush), Francis Bonnefoy The stupid git had gotten himself painstaking hurt during the invasion of Germany, and had yet to wake up.

The Commander refused to believe that one of the most outspoken members of the Free French Forces would join the other millions of casualties. He had prayed to ever higher power there was, he had wept his tears for Francis. Why wouldn't the git wake up?!

Arthur turned his head to see it was not the nurse that had tapped on his uniform almost five times now. Instead, it was his American wanker of a friend, Private Alfred Jones.

What was-

_Oh, _Arthur remembered. He motioned to slap his forehead with his right hand. He had promised to join the American for a round of drinks. Before he could apologize, Alfred just smiled that he forgave Arthur. After all, he knew, despite the stereotypical national-relations, Arthur and Francis were quite close. As close as old friends could be. Francis had been close to being captured early on in the war, but he wouldn't have allowed that. Having Arthur at sea, at risk of the German advances, made him push forth, and survive well.

Or at least, until recently.

"I shouldn't just leave him…" Arthur murmured, running the back of his hand across Francis's pale, and toughly scathed face. "He'll wake up…" At the point, Arthur had said that to everyone who walked by so much, he couldn't remember if he said it to assure others, or himself.

Alfred turned to face the Brit. "Doctors want you out soon, Artie."

Arthur smiled mirthlessly. "Why do both my friends bloody eff my up name? It's not Artie, and it sure as hell is not Arzur." He picked up another blanket from the side stool and unrolled it, laying it on top of his unconscious friend. "He has an accent; you have no bloody excuse."

"Would you go all Royal Navy on me if I continued to call you Artie?" Alfred joked, nudging him the arm. Arthur gave him a look of confirmation, and shut his eyes.

The Private put his hands into a prayer position, and by then Arthur was murmuring the same pleas to any higher power that could hear him. Arthur's face as he prayed was a mix of pain, and peacefulness. Alfred felt bad that the person he had fallen in love with looked unsatisfied.

At the same time, he _hated _how much Arthur seemed to worry over Francis.

* * *

"It's cool out," Arthur mused. The two men had up until now walked fairly quietly. "I just hope it doesn't rain. I love London, but I don't need waterfalls forever." His had purposely altered his tone to refrain from Alfred knowing how scared he was. His unclear future had been on his mind for days, from VE Day, and through VJ Day. "London'll be a mess. It IS a mess. I just hope it'll work out."

Alfred let out a soft chuckle.

"Arthur…"

"What is it, git?"

"Come back to Boston with me."

"Sh-what?!" Arthur gasped in a soft voice. "The war officially ended not 2 days ago…Alfred, I live in London." They _had _managed to pick up a few drinks before the pub kindly asked them to leave. The poor bartender was running extremely low on his drinks. Arthur was thankful in a sense that he was a few glasses close to being completely wasted. He blinked several times and widened his strides.

"Stop walking away from me," Alfred whined, his tone quiet to not sound as childish.

"That- what you said in there…what was that?" Arthur demanded. He couldn't tell why he sounded completely annoyed by the question. Running what he heard, his logical side found it possible. His family was gone, his home was literally in shambles and Francis was indefinitely asleep.

That was it.

He couldn't look at himself if Francis had woken up, only to hear Arthur was probably never coming back. The two had bickered, had gotten pissed drunk with each other.

But they had promised they were in it together.

Alfred sucked in his cheeks. "I guess it was kind of sudden…"

"Very."

"But I did mean it."

"You-what?!"

The sky was already dark. Arthur had a right mind to head back to the temporary shelter he had with the other British officers, but telling by Alfred's stride, they were probably headed more toward the American tents. He could deal with that- Arthur knew the site well enough to be able to find himself back at base after Alfred arrived at his. "Belt up, git, what did you say?"

"I asked you to live with me in Boston."

"You're a child of a big heart, Alfred, but I live in London."

"We're _friends, _right?" Alfred whispered, hating how that sounded as it left his lips. He was sure what he felt for Arthur was beyond friendship. "I'm not a child, Artie. I fought in this war?"

"Be it as it may, you're what, 18?" Arthur chuckled mirthlessly. He jammed his hands into his pockets.

"I'm 22, Artie...and I heard some of your men talking earlier."

"Oh?"

"In a few days you'll be paid, given a pat on the shoulder and left to go home. Where's home?"

"In London."

"But, no, your _house, _home. It's gone, isn't it?"

"I'm sure I can room with a mate here. Many of us will be left a bit destitute, but we'll make do."

"You won't be occupying any place- you told me, remember? C'mon Artie. I don't want a _friend _like you here left to suffer. Meanwhile, I'll be living on land un-harmed by war…We care for each other right?"

"Alfred. You know as much as anyone that knows me, I am strong. I like getting what I need on my own. I survive on my own. I won't have anyone taking pity on me. If I end up on the streets, I will not be alone. Not only that, I will not impose on your family. That's preposterous! 'Oh, look, mumsie, I found this poor Brit on my way home! Can he room with me?' Are you kidding me? Alfred, you make me laugh. Not." Arthur said, patting his pockets. Damn, he'd smoked all his cigarettes this morning He turned to Alfred. "Got a smoke on you, by any chance?"

Of course Alfred did. He handed one over, and then pulled out his lighter. Arthur murmured his gratitude.

"I live alone in Boston. I was watching over my family's company at their Boston HQ before I enlisted. Don't you remember?"

Oh, blimey, right.

While Arthur had been a part-time worker at a bookshop before he dropped it all to join the Navy oh so many years ago, his American friend had been the sole heir to a multi-million dollar entertainment corporation. He lived well off, and joining the war where he risked his life seemed to confuse Arthur. Something about being a hero, or some shite-

"Anyway, I don't want my friend to suffer here…You can always come back, I guess. Just a few months, y'know? Get your mind off the war…" Alfred hastily added. "It's kind of lonely…"

Oh, jeez. Arthur adjusted his cap and tapped the cigarette on his thigh. "Alfred, this is a big offering for some bloke you met barely 2 years ago. I could be a former rapist, or convict for all you know."

"I don't care!" Alfred added, a tad too quickly. Arthur quirked one of his _infamous _eyebrows. "I trust you…I won't force you, but think about it, okay?"

Arthur realized they'd reached Alfred's base.

"Good night, Arthur," Alfred smiled shyly. He gave Arthur a wave. " Really think about it...I..."

"Good night, Alf-"

"I really care about you." Alfred finished.

* * *

Afterword;;

what do you think? :S

(BTW, Alfred is not not going to be batshi- crazy possessive or anything. He's a bit jealous of Arthur's longer friendship with Francis, and he should be. But he's young, rich, used to getting what he wants, and only been in the war for a bit) He really does like Arthur.


	2. Let Me Love You

**a/n;; this is one of those time-skippy fics. It will go back and forth la (:  
By the way, this won't be a long fic x) At most 8-10 chapters, and short ones at that**

**Dandy xx**

* * *

"Wake up, Princess," Alfred murmured jovially, prodding his friend's thin arm. The American smiled at the joke, but part of him hoped that Arthur was dead beat enough not to have heard. As the Brit shifted around in his slumber, Alfred reached into pocket and pulled out some cash, reaching over to hand them to cab driver.

"'Naw Arteh- it's Arterrr…" mumbled Arthur. He must have said the line so much it came out automatically. Alfred chuckled. At least he hadn't heard what he'd really said…

The cab driver's chin jerked at the overly-fatigued British Commander. "You're a bleeding heart to take in a Brit. I heard home's not doing so well there." A surge of pride swelled through the young man.

"Doing what I can, Will. 'Sides, he's a good friend. Saved me from all dozens of possible hangovers."

Alfred gave the driver one last nod, and opened up the door. He gave Arthur's sleeping form a small smile. How his body lifted and lowered from his heavy breathing, and how he just _curled _like so on the seat. He jerked open the back trunk and began lifting all the dusty, patched duffels. Once he had checked to make sure his guestroom was clean, or enough not to turn Arthur off, he dashed back to the idling car and lifted Arthur effortlessly bridal style. Will chuckled at Alfred's actions.

"He'd kill me if I did this while he was awake," Alfred joked. "See ya, Will!"

"You too, Jones!"

He kept the door open, and that made it easy for him to breeze into his townhouse with Arthur in his arms. Alfred hummed a song tune as he skipped up the stairs, entered his home and then kicked the door shut quietly with a nudge of his toe. Having the Brit in his arms just felt so right. Arthur was in no means short, barely an inch shorter than Alfred, but his body was more on the slender and lean side, while Alfred had broad shoulders and a bit more muscle packed on. His hands were closed and tucked behind his ear, and dressed in a clean shirt and khakis, he looked peaceful, finally.

Alfred contemplated about waking his friend up, because he knew crossing the Atlantic had been a long and restless journey. When they reached the guestroom, Alfred carefully slid Arthur onto the bed, and pried off his old leather shoes. As he tucked the Brit in, he made a mental note to go shopping.

* * *

_Arthur, _

_I THINK there's tea in the kitchen, so go crazy. _

_Out shopping,_

_Alfred_

* * *

"I heard your bloody footsteps," Arthur alerted.

"Oh, crap!" Alfred's voice responded sarcastically, the words slightly muffled through the door. Nevertheless, the young man turned the knob of the door and walked in, a plate with a vary of vegetables and meat on it. Arthur wiggled his body as he tried to sit up. He wasn't very appreciative that Alfred had to be present as he got himself presentable.

"You look like you're struggling," Alfred said pointedly.

"I'm glad you noticed, git."

Alfred set the plate down. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Artie, let me help you."

"I'm not a bloody invalid!" Arthur protested.

However, it was clear to both men that Arthur was tired, weakened by the past few days. It was only Arthur though, that knew of the discomfort of his usually tightly bandaged wound, located where his shoulder met his arm. The thing was, this was the first time Alfred, or anybody, really, that was present as Arthur got himself to sit up, or stand. His body constantly made the mistake of sleeping on the wound, only to release the pressure when Arthur was conscious. He hissed as he felt the poorly-done dressing come un-done. Arthur rubbed the area a bit, and looked up to Alfred.

The poor American was nearly sheet-white in his countenance.

"You're not letting me be a good host, Artie," Alfred sighed. Ignoring Arthur's splutters, he grabbed the thinner man's arm and tugged him to the kitchen. "Where's it hurting?"

"Nowhere, Alfred," Arthur groaned. "I have a few healing wounds but nothing to worry about. Just some burns and crap. Alcohol nulls it. So does determination."

"Well, as a guest under the Jones residence, we heal wounds with a kiss!" Alfred said with much bravado. He leaned down and tapped his nose on Arthur's shoulder.

"A nose kiss? Never mind that, I'm not a girl, git!" Arthur flustered.

"I was kidding with ya, Arthur. Loosen up. We've got so much time now that people are trickling back from Europia!"

"Damn you," Arthur growled.

* * *

The first time Alfred had let it slip, Arthur hadn't been completely surprised.

All it took was a stupid fever Arthur had somehow contracted the past weekend. He had tried to hide it from Alfred because he knew what would become of it...

But why did it feel like he was just getting weaker?

Arthur had collapsed in Alfred's arms, his head spinning from nausea and just general illness. He hadn't felt so vulnerable in so long, and all he knew was he clung to Alfred's dress shirt, sobbing. On top of that, he felt useless. His few days in Boston had been both a whirlwind of eye openers, but at the same time…felt like a house wife.

That made no sense to Arthur, a former Commander for the goddamn Navy! He inhaled a deep breath and released his hold on Alfred's shirt. He scooted a bit away and shamefully looked at his American friend.

"I don't know what came over me." Arthur whispered. He wiped his eyes harshly, and dried them on the new pair of slacks Alfred had bought for Arthur.

Since he had arrived in the United States, Arthur had expected to stay in one of Alfred's guest rooms (or whatever the man had to offer), rest up from the war, and find a job. He hadn't much hope, but his English was excellent, and he could act kind when he wanted to. In all honesty, Arthur had also assumed that Alfred would just see Arthur as someone like a college dorm mate. They lived together, but had their own lives outside Alfred's townhouse. Arthur offered some of his income from the war to pay for his lodging- it was the least he could have done, and as soon as he had a steady income coming, he would continue his payment. It was a strict friend-only thing.

Instead, Alfred had practically doted on Arthur as if he was a china doll. Arthur smacked Alfred profusely, calling him 'git' and 'Yank' more than enough times. Still, the American businessman had made sure his bed was comfy, he was well fed, and he had the most expensive clothes (was that really necessary?! "Fashion's a-changing, Artie!"). He gave Arthur daily encouraging smiles, Alfred's oh-so-childish blinding grin.

It took much coercing before Alfred would even walk out the door to go to work.

"It's alright, Artie."

"I just feel awful."

"S'why I'm here." Alfred whispered. Arthur covered his mouth. Another wave of nausea went through him. He exhaled roughly when it passed.

Suddenly, he found a pair of familiar arms around his waist. Long fingers curled around his thin frame. It was not something _just a friend _did.

"Al-?" Arthur's voice hitched when the strong grasp pull his body closer to the other man. "Alfred…"

"Arthur," Alfred breathed, pressing his closed lips atop of Arthur's head. "Seeing you like this breaks me. Tell me, tell me, _tell me, _how do I make you happy?"

"Alfred…" Hairs on his back stood up when he felt Alfred's face on his shoulder.

"_Anything, _Arthur. Just tell me."

The entire embrace was already giving it away, and Arthur's heart was scared shi-less for confirmation from the younger man.

"Alfred, why are you doing this?" Arthur whispered.

This was terrifying. Did Arthur even return those feelings? What would happen if he didn't? Would Alfred ship Arthur back off to London (granted, part of Arthur didn't mind…)? Would he demand immediate reimbursement for everything? And what about Francis?

Alfred lifted Arthur's chin. The latter shut his eyes for what was coming.

His lips were soft, but obviously scared. As they pressed gently against Arthur's forehead, he knew his suspicions were right.

"Don't…sa-"

"I love you, Arthur. Please, please don't push me away. Let me help you." Alfred pleaded softly. His eyes looked at Arthur's blank face for seconds. "I know you think I fooled you come here, and that wasn't very nice of me….Just don't leave me right now. Not now."

The underlying tone of Alfred's please tugged at Arthur.

Finally, he spoke.

"I'm ill, Alfred. Be a dear and buy me some remedy…" Arthur looked into Alfred's blue eyes. He gave a small nod. "You wanker."


End file.
